“‘Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, —shire.’”

“She’ll get the job,” Lottie says with confidence. “Then she can leave Lowood. Is thirty pounds a lot of money?”

“I don’t know, but Thornfield sounds big. Unfriendly.”

“And isolated. Look here, it says ‘near Millcote, —shire,’ which means Thornfield is out in the boonies.”

“Like Keziah . . .”

“Keep reading,” Lottie says. “It’s the only way we’ll find out where Jane ends up.”

I find our spot and read on. The scratched-out name at the front of the book doesn’t bother me anymore. Father’s other children and Mother’s anxious cleaning have no power inside Dead Lorraine’s room. Inside these pea-green walls, only Lottie, Jane, and I exist.

18

Liars and Thieves

The morning bell rings for the second Monday of the school term, and I wake up on the floor with a pillow under my head and a blanket over my body. Lottie lies beside me, with Jane Eyre, the empty box of strawberry creams, and the Jewish spinning top tucked between us. Last night’s hour of grace turned into two hours, and then Mr. Rochester turned up on his horse and almost killed Jane, and although he’s a proper white man with money and Jane is only a servant, it’s obvious that he’s attracted to her and that she’s falling for him. But that house, Thornfield Hall . . . Something’s wrong there, that’s for sure. We kept reading until the candles burned down and we fell asleep to the sound of “At Last,” played over and over again. Mrs. Thomas will be in a soft, don’t-much-care-who’s-wrong-or-right mood this morning.

“What?” Lottie says when I shake her from sleep.

“Move it. We have to get one of the showers or we’ll stink for a week.”

We grab our towels and washcloths, and rush to join the bathroom line, which is already long. I snag a spot behind Claire Naidoo, and Lottie falls in behind me. The fire is the main talking point, and the atmosphere is festive. We’re alive, and standing in line is better than being consumed by fire, which would mean we’d have to have closed caskets at our funerals, and wouldn’t that be a shame?

A door slams, and Delia, Peaches, Natalie, and Sandi Cardoza come out of their room with flushed faces. Sandi’s hair sticks up like porcupine quills, and something disastrous must have happened for her to show her natural kink in public. Delia walks straight toward us like she’s on a mission, and I can’t imagine what she wants from Lottie or me.

“Here. Take it.” Delia throws a wad of material in my face. “Now give it back!”

“Give what back?” I’m in shock. Delia just threw Lottie’s stolen undies in my face. In front of everyone!

“Don’t play dumb,” Delia snarls. “Give it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, exasperated. “Give back what?”

“My silver necklace.” Sandi Cardoza’s eyes are red from crying. “The one my father gave me for Christmas. That one. It was in my top drawer, and now it’s gone.”